The Dead End Blues
by Psychic City
Summary: Murdoc's deal with the Devil is long overdue & after a short encounter with a demon, he thinks that he's off the hook. But what is happening to 2D and why has he taken to trying to kill Murdoc & the rest of the band? Can a returning Noodle save 2D? Nx2D
1. Down the Lift

**Psychic City: **This is a second story of mine and, this time, I'm going to try and stay original! Please leave reviews and let me know what you think of this so far. I'd definitely love to keep going with this!

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**Chapter One:**  
**Down the Lift**

_"In the afterlife, you could be headed for a serious strife..."  
-Squirrel Nut Zippers, "Hell"_

Murdoc Nicclas kicked his feet up. He leaned back his head against the front of the slightly crooked love seat. There was a snap and sizzle, something smooth that leapt up in the palms of his hands. And, upon glancing down at the freshly opened can of beer, Murdoc's smile intensified. "Ahh," he sang groggily to himself, peering down at the alcohol as if it were some sort of golden divinity, "this is it. This is the life." And perhaps his cheerfulness was, in turn, only do to the excessive amount of liquor he had already consumed over the course of the fading day but, as for now, he, Murdoc Niccals, was a happy man. He pressed his light head further back, downing a significant amount of the glistening bottle, and groped around in the darkness for the remote to the telly.

He swiveled back, stretched a long, green arm behind his shaggy head of greasy black hair, and flicked on the box set. A burst of black and white static overtook the screen before resolving itself into a better picture. Even despite the hazy vision, despite the soft whisper of the television audio, Murdoc's smile persisted. He'd had quite a good afternoon, in all honesty, and as he sat in his settled position, he even basked in the minute thought of it.

Thus, despite the massively large brown dome in the middle of the water, despite Murdoc's frequent sightings of a lanky girl in a cat mask, he was finally beginning to really enjoy his time on Plastic Beach. Sure, he'd had the album finished, and sure, the majority of his featured guests had gone their separate ways- but that did not mean that he was finished with having some fun for himself. So he'd kept 2D captive, as a sort of side-line source of entertainment, and used the Cyborg Noodle far more often than necessary. He'd been blessed with the island, with a bribable whale, and with a brain-damaged moron of a singer who didn't quite realize that there were two spare lifeboats out by the dock. And that was it; that was the life. He, Murdoc Niccals, was, by all means, living quite the high one.

And despite the pirate jets, despite the anonymous washed up death threats, Murdoc could forget about all that useless nonsense with a snap of his fingers. "Oiii, Cyber Doodle!" he commanded and someplace, in the depths of what could have been considered a living room, something snapped strictly upwards. A strong beep echoed through the living room and an even larger smile spread across Murdoc's anxious face. He downed the last of his beer as if it were a shot, tossed the remains over his shoulder on to the spare and ancient couch, and pointed to the empty space in front of the television.

He breathed out, taking in the stale air of the overly polluted and neon pink hunk of plastic beach. Ah yes, this was it, an odd piece of what was perhaps paradise. "Be a doll and grab us that handle." There was a snap, a collection of a few tiny beeps, and then the Cyborg was off back into the blackness. Out of the corner of his eye, Murdoc watched it extend it's slender hand, swipe the glass liquor bottle off of the kitchen counter, and steadily present it out in front of itself. It's eyes scanned the darkness, locking in finally upon Murdoc and shoving the alcohol out in its commander's direction. Murdoc's eyes twinkled and he downed his first swig of hard liquor. He had to admit, the Cyborg Noodle was a good idea. After all, it was getting a lot better at adjusting to Murdoc's rather 'special' drinking habits.

"Alright, RobboCop," he slurred, flicking his wrist to one side and gesturing for the machine to slide away from the television screen, "scoot."

The metal Noodle stiffened and did as it was told, directing itself away from the screen, and folding itself into a proper position on the love seat next to Murdoc. It did not twitch or make a move and, despite the constant beeping noises, Murdoc only eyed it with a slight annoyance before turning back to the fuzzy screen. "Fucking cable," he slurred, leaning even further back into the cushions of the love seat. He glanced away from the robot and reclined, absorbed in the nothingness on the screen and fumbling slightly with the speaker volume before giving up entirely.

Murdoc glanced subtly out the window, back out into the wide ocean scenery that stretched out everlasting before him. The light house cast is beams over the surface, igniting the anti-landscape with full force. In the light breeze, the palm trees swayed with the wind and a ghost-like howl overtook the air around his floating landmass. Without much light, the stars above him stood out radiantly and, for once, Murdoc wished he had any appreciation at all for astrology. Yet the visual of space above made his eyes slip, cascading slightly upon him with a rather unexpected intrusion. He'd found himself far more tired than he had even expected himself to be as he downed yet another swig of the handle's contents and curled himself up quite sloppily.

The television flicked. Something about the wonky little screen flashed and the picture's colors quickly inverted before fading back to normal. "Fucking Cable," Murdoc repeated with a slur, and he rested his head backwards, ignoring the flickering box before permitting his eyes to shut with weary intentions.

_"Ah, sleep with one eye open, Mr. Niccals..."_

Murdoc's sleepy eyes snapped open. He had heard the noise clearly and even the last of the awful sentence bounced in an echo off of interior walls. Havering, he bounded upwards, knocking the handle from his grasp in the process, and shattering the glass bottle on the floor as a result. "Fuck!" cried Murdoc, making for a steady stance, but the light emitting from the television screen made him conclusively halt.

There in the center of the black box was a face, pale and anxiety ridden. Though despite the harsh lines and the visible scars, the complexion before him wore an upturned and curled smile. His eyes shined yellow and his head of slicked hair was black and admittedly well-kept. He stood in the frame of the television with his arms crossed, his cocky expression well accented by the two sharp horns that jolted out from either side of his skull. And though only part of his bare chest was visible, a dark and admittedly impressive tattoo of a beast had been imprinted on it. Murdoc groaned, hissing, "shit," before attempting to sloppily regain himself.

"Here I am on a pile of landmass in the middle of nowhere, and yet you lot always seem to track me down," he bemused, flattening out his own head of black hair. His slippery fingers wound their way to the Cyborg and, slyly, he snatched out the batteries without much difficulty. The bleeping thing dimmed and, consequently, flopped downwards in a messy sort of hunch before Murdoc returned his full attention to the TV set. His sarcastic smile matched the demon's and, a bit too casually, he shifted his weight. "How do you manage that one?" he asked.

_"A deal's a deal, Niccals," _the thing warned, not amused. He hadn't taken his eyes off of Murdoc, despite the Cyborg distraction at the other end of him. _"One soul..."_

Murdoc lifted his wrist, glaring down at his watch impatiently. "Oh, come on," he said, drawing out his speech in a long and exasperated way, "has it really been...?"

"Twelve years, Niccals," the man hissed, his long tongue snapping out furiously between his lips. "Two years longer than what was even agreed upon!"

A bout of silence overtook the two men and Murdoc glanced rapidly towards the television remote. He lifted up the flimsy thing and slammed his cracked fingernail hard down upon the soft power button. However, the face of the demon on the screen still remained and, for the first time in that night, Murdoc's blood ran cold. "Shit," he muttered, shoulders slumping with perfect enthusiasm. He glanced back down at the powered down servant, wondering why he had been so compelled to power it down in the first place. It wasn't as if the Cyborg would have helped shield him from any on-screen demon anyways, but standing in front of the man in his boxers and boots, Murdoc couldn't help but feel a bit solitary in his cornered entrapment.

And yet, as a prideful man, he straightened himself upright, fiddled with the strap of his loose boxer shorts, and regained his previously unbreakable composure. "Two years," he said, despite the flickering heart beat in the pit of his nicotine chest, "that's... er... not _too_ long, is it? Can't be too impatient down there, eh? I mean, considering you lot have almost all eternity..."

Against the screen of the television set, the man growled, not amused. His sharp and jagged teeth sat dull and yellow behind his curled thin little lips. However, he extended a hand forward, protruding his wrist out of the glass, and reached out towards Murdoc with a flicker in his yellow eyes. "_A deal is a deal," _he said angrily, pulling his second wrist through forcefully. The television did a slight little shutter before falling over the end table, shattering into multiple pieces on the floor before Murdoc's scoffed Cuban heels.

But the newfound silence that overtook the living room unnerved him. The smashed TV was one thing, but the face of the bitter demon had gone. Unprepared, Murdoc swirled around in the nighttime, feeling for the back of his shut off Cyborg and pushing her to the side in a heap on the floor. Drunk and newly anxious, he stumbled over the metal heap, and scurried off to the lift. "_Why so edgy, Niccals?"_came the voice again and Murdoc threw himself backwards upon the wall behind him. He hadn't even made it to the lift when he'd heard the soft echo of the voice. Heaving, he stumbled back over his own feet, holding out his inverted cross like a pathetic little shield.

The shaded demon laughed. _"What's the use of that?" _he laughed, cocking his pointed chin out towards the Satanist's necklace. Murdoc's eyes found the gold upside cross and, cursing, he dropped it against his panting green chest.

"What do you want?" Murdoc finally hissed, feeling the harsh pounding of his head throb against his temples. He was far more intoxicated then he'd have liked to have been, and yet, he only just managed to keep his questionable composure in front of the smirking demon. The thing, still amused, wore a pair of tattered nice trousers and a scuffed gold watch. Perhaps at one point a propper businessman, he looked as if he had been very deeply ripped off. Murdoc wondered if it had been, in fact, he who had done so to the demon. And despite the pride that swelled through him at the thought of it, he couldn't help the notion that he really just wanted to shit his pants. His heart rip intensely against his boney sternum. "Hm?"

The demon strode forward, the tattered cloth of his once nice business trousers dragging out behind him on the littered floorboards. _"You've had your fun, Murdoc," _taunted the dark man, motioning quickly to his watch. "_Now it's our turn to have ours."_

A recognizable beep sounded off in the distance and Murdoc's head snapped up. In the darkness, he saw the front of the Cyborg, her head upwards and her mouth lifted into a rather seductive smile. In fractions she crawled upwards, reaching out her arm and then coiling her leg upwards near her thin little shoulders. Finally, she surpassed the ghost of the demon, moving towards Murdoc with a robotic tone in her creepy step. It wasn't possible, Murdoc was sure, he'd turned her off... he was certain of it.

Breathing hard, his hand found the lift button and he heard the clang of metal from below as it lifted itself up towards him. Yet the Cyborg Noodle was nearing him and the sound of the demon's oncoming laughter overtook the clanging sound and Murdoc backed up several paces behind himself. But, much to his relief, the lift doors flung open and he fell back sloppily over his feet, and into the back of the elevator, where his throbbing and drunken skull met the metal wall beyond him.

There was a creak, several inaudible bleeps, and the shadow of the Satanist's creation came cast over him within the instant. But his impaired vision overtook his senses and before he noticed that he was, in fact, loosing consciousness, he saw the Android lean in towards his sweaty face.


	2. Blue and Hazy

**Psychic City:** Thanks for all the reviews! I'm so excited to submit another chapter and this one is LONG. Hopefully that's a good thing. Thank you **cocco, WordWrytha, LECandeh, MCLanna, Va Vonne, Kristen-san, MunkyWhatMunky, and -bammie- **for the responses!

OH! And **-bammie-**, I am going to try and keep this as original as possible. But really, I'm just _dying_ for you to update 'RSP'. I've been following it for a while- love it. ;)

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**Chapter Two:**  
**Blue and Hazy**

There was something about a persisting hangover that Murdoc knew he would never quite get used to. Perhaps it was the sun ray lighting effect, or the drums in his temples, but either way, Murdoc was certain that each time he'd woke up with the nauseous feeling of rising bile, he would never drink ever, ever again. And yet, the promise was, as always, a rather short lived one. Still, as Murdoc pried his weary eyes open, reached dramatically out in front of him, and grabbed the wall of the elevator lift, he'd wished he'd at least took 'moderation' into consideration during his prior night's drinking binge.

Nonetheless, he scooted himself upwards, clamored up against the rusted metal walls, and slammed his entire palm down on the door button. Sure enough, they swung open, revealing to him the living room of his plastic dump. Thus, he stumbled back into the wreckage hazily, his hands at his crooked head. His black mop flashed against his clammy forehead and he blinked the stinging sensation behind his glossy eyes. Despite the hangover, he clumsily dragged his feet, one still surprisingly in his Cuban heel, across the floorboards and reached for what remained of the discarded handle in the corner.

His spare foot scraped against something sharp and he reeled backwards, still fumbling with the drearily pounding headache. "Fucking-" Murdoc lifted his sleeping foot, and saw the dark maroon blood seeping through the dirt-encrusted fabric of his flimsy brown sock. A single blade of glass struck out harshly from the bottom of his foot sole. His face crunched up and his hand dove down to retrieve it. But his vacant head took a rather long while to register the newfound gash in his foot. Then he yanked the carrot shaped shard out from his heel and, analytically, brought it up to his wrinkled face. The sharp fraction of his overturned television set reflected his perplexed expression. "What the-"

Beneath his bare foot, the remainder of his precious television box set lie like scattered rubble on the floor below him. Murdoc couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of having lost a great friend before realizing that, in addition to the shattered television, his entire living room had been destroyed. Thousands of tiny little violins plucked ruthlessly around in his airy noggin. The coffee table was flipped on its side, as if shielding the ruined TV, while the curtains had been torn harshly from the windows. Scrawled on the white walls and written in neon pink was the graffitied words, _"TIME'S UP!". _

Murdoc overstepped the pile of shredded television and, wincing, drew shut the remainder of the scrappy curtains. Then, as if a chore, he dragged himself away from the window's light, and groggily started towards the scratchy love seat. He then flopped himself upon it, coaxing his sore back backwards, and extended out his weary arms. And there she was- Cyborg Noodle, in all her powered down glory. Her upper torso was bent forward and her long metal limbs hung low at the ground before her. The locks of her fake purple hair struck out in all different directions and, instead of a curled up grin, her expression was blank and rather vacant. At her back, she was missing any set of batteries to keep her awake.

Sighing, Murdoc's hands redirected themselves to his pocket, digging out the batteries and placing them back in their correct place. The Android Noodle gave a quick little jerk and, upon beeping rather monotonously, its back straightened as a response. Its eyes glanced around the room, finding the sullen figure of Murdoc before tilting its head to one side patiently.

"Now that you're er.. demon free, R2D2, grab me a beer, would you?" Jolting upwards, the replacement Noodle lifted itself mechanically from the couch and stalked off towards the kitchen. Murdoc glanced over his shoulder, watching his creation bend down structurally, and pull a spare beer from the refrigerator. "Ahh..." he mused, flopping back his greasy head again, "that's the ticket."

So the night previously had, in fact, definitely happened. Murdoc could tell by the look of whatever had been left of his living room. However, such an occurrence was not likely to put one Murdoc Niccals in an uproar. He'd gotten off the hook, hadn't he? By the looks of it, the tattered demon had left the beach without delivering much more than a bit of scare tactics. Besides, he told himself happily as he heard the door to the fridge close shut, the demolished living room was something he could always have the useful Cyborg take care of later. Thus, Murdoc's infamously devious smile slipped back on to his hungover, yet amused, visage. And with that, he relaxed back into his comfortable cushion. "Murdoc Niccals," he flattered himself briskly, "you are some piece of work, aren't you?"

In his unfolded palm, the Cyborg Noodle passed to him his perspiring bottle of beer. It watched in an absent minded way as Murdoc's grin broadened and he downed the bottle's contents further down his throat. He looked back at the tainted wall with a bout of new amusement, reading "'Time's Up', is it?" and then carried off in a fit of his own cackling laughter.

The consistent beeping from over his shoulder narrowed his eyes and, once again, he glanced dizzily over the back of the couch. He fixed his gaze upon the robotic girl and threw out his hands, as if completely clueless. "Oi, what're you standing around there for?" he asked the thing, leaning forward again on the cushion. His grime-coated fingers reached out in search of the light white turtle neck he'd discarded in the previous night. "Go be progressive, eh?" Then, with a jabbing motion, he gestured towards the wreckage beyond him. He lifted his bloody foot and kicked it towards the graffiti covered wall and the pathetically shattered television set.

He wound the turtle neck back over his black head, stretching it violently until it rest almost presentably on his ghastly torso. "And blow an air-horn in 2D's ear, would you?" As he spoke to the processing thing, he withdrew a single cigarette from the pockets of his fading trousers. "He's been sleeping for almost ten straight hours." The half-yellow smoke stick light up responsively and, breathing outward, Murdoc cocked his chin back out to the damaged furniture. The still Cyborg stood unresponsively, waiting for her commander to finish his admittedly elongated speech. She did not seem to mind, however, and only waited calmly until he finished rambling uselessly to her. Yet he felt the harsh light of the sun hit his face intensely and, sore from the flashy light, Murdoc's eyes forced themselves shut.

Breathing out, Murdoc pressed his palm over his eyes and then squinted at the robot through the tiny cracks between his crooked fingers. He gestured to the lift and then sunk back into the cushion, melting like a puddle. "Go on, for fuck's sake," he hissed and the Cyborg stiffened before turning back towards the lift with an entirely new purpose. Peering, Murdoc Niccals saw the robot's hands lift as it touched the lift button and wait for the doors to open generously. He called out swooningly, "I think you and old 2D have some work ahead of you!" And felt an odd sense of relaxation as it vanished behind the slamming metal doors.

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A tall and hovering shadow shot through the darkened room at the depths of Plastic Beach. Fractionally, it moved closer, allowing the doors of the lift to shut compulsively behind it. And then, its eyes located on its target. There, in the lack of light, lie the uncovered lump of outstretched flesh. The feet of the man hung off the edge of the bed, and the spare arm that had not been covering its face leaned against the carpeted ground in a folded sort of manner. From beneath the fabric of the figure's collared red t-shirt, the man's chest rose up and down, plagued with what had been undoubtably sleep. Yet, despite the seemingly peaceful silence that overtook the room, there emitted an unquestionable groaning from the man on the dingy little mattress.

The shadow did not hesitate, however. Its pace, though slow, had progressed it further. Stilly, it stopped before the edge of the pathetic bed and resumed watch analytically. Through the eyes of the robotic Android, the Cyborg saw a blue haired and unconscious figure, shaded by the single curtains over the nearby porthole of a window. Though the eyes of the man were not completely visible, it was clear that the top of his forehead and been split open and then poorly stitched together. It was, of course, one of many physical bruises that he'd had marked on his body and, admittedly, they were starting to pile up.

He gave a short twitch and his half-open mouth murmured something slightly inaudible. She did not have an air-horn, but before the Cyborg plunged down, she lightly touched the sleeping figure at the shoulder. She reeled back, expecting the same jittery response that she was all too familiar with. And, true to the Cyborg's programed expectations, the slender man's body arched up and his wrist flung away from the front of his face. With a raspy intake of harsh breath, the man jolted upright, with only his lower torso still pressed onto the front of the mattress. Black and vacant eyes searched his surroundings and, at the sight of the sharp shadow before him, his slumped body slipped off from the mattress, landing him in a wonky lump on the floor.

The gangly man of thirty-two let his mouth dangle open. He glanced up, watching the robot silently, though he couldn't help the persistent panting that added a sweaty look to his already pale front. His face, drained of any possible color, watched Cyborg Noodle, and the large Adam's Apple at his throat bobbed up uneasily as he waited for it to make its next move. However, the thing only gave one short twitch as it, just like Murdoc, gestured its chin to the lift doors. It spotted that its command had been noticed and, satisfied, turned on its dual heels and head back towards the clunky elevator.

On the floor, the damaged singer scrambled upwards, fumbling with the end of the mattress to pull himself upright. Yet he stood unmoving, still dizzy from his sleep, and watched the robot as it waited for the lift to arrive. His first words of the morning sounded raspy and dull even as they echoed throughout his underwater cell. "You... want me to follow you?" he asked it, rather politely for an unwilling captive.

Cyborg Noodle's head bounced up and down and, despite itself, a large grin crept up upon its half hidden face. Then, without warning, it adjusted its head back and, protruding from its wide open mouth, shot the barrel of a gun. Despite his previous sloppiness, the vocalist leapt up without hesitation. He stumbled over the cords of his room, found his position next to the metal Noodle, and stood with his hands at his chest, twiddling them through on onset of consistent anxiety. The lift doors flung open and he obligingly stepped through the threshold at the Cyborg's side. She noticed his nervous chewing of his bottom lip and the way his glossy eyes watched her every so often. And yet, when the lift finally reached its destination point, she stepped from the elevator without glancing back towards him again.

With his legs kicked upwards upon the still overturned coffee table, Murdoc Niccals glanced over himself and a devious smile spread across his exhausted face. "Baring arms, eh?" he exclaimed with a stretch of his arms. Slowly, he pulled himself up from the cushion and casually stepped over the shattered glass mess in front of him. His eyes found the robot and, winking, he bemused enthusiastically, "Nice touch, I like it!"

The Cyborg blinked happily and took Murdoc's jerky cue to wander off towards the broken box set. Only once it was several feet away from its prisoner, did the man slump his shoulders in slight relaxation. "Ah, 2D!" Murdoc smiled, holding out his arms once again as if he were to embrace him. "Thought you could use a little fresh air, you know?"

Though it had been hanging rather low, 2D's head glanced up and he eyed the bassist doubtfully. His anxious expression softened. He had been growing rather tired of waking up to the same routine on a daily basis. Usually, throughout the years he'd spent as Murdoc's prisoner, he'd spent the hours watching zombie films from under the covers of his bed where he was quite certain he was hidden from the massive whale outside the window. And when he was not being tied up to a chair and being forced to do pirate radio broadcasts, when he was not being drugged or chloroformed, he'd spent his spare hours searching for his tube of pain killers Murdoc had hidden from him somewhere around the dusty dump of his. Yet, despite the throbbing headache of his own, and the everlasting anxiousness that tainted 2D's composure, he felt relieved at the calm expression on the green Niccals' face.

He swallowed his nerves and, running a shivering hand through his head of messy blue hair he said, "err.. thanks, Muds. But the uh... gun was a bit unnecessary, don't you think?"

"All precautionary, mate," Murdoc dwelled on, clamping a hand over 2D's shoulder and causing him to wince in the process, "all precautionary. Besides, I'd have figured you'd get used to being woken up as such, of all people, 2D!"

2D watched the floor. He didn't think he'd ever get used to waking up in such a way, yet he kept his mouth clenched shut and took the opportunity to leave his room as a blessing, though strange as it as. Thus, he breathed in, ready to trust that Murdoc had been perhaps a bit lonely, and nodded grimly. He glanced back around the living room quickly, taking in the dumpster-like atmosphere quickly. The sight of the mess pained him. Though he hadn't seen her in years, he was certain that, if Noodle were here with him, she would have never let the house have become such a wreck.

Any hint of a smile vanished from 2D's face and his shoulders slumped down submissively. It hadn't been long since he had thought about Noodle and despite their distance, he had missed her very much. Each hopeful journey out in the submarines, he truly had expected to find her out there, just as Murdoc had promised. And every time Murdoc had reported to him that he'd seen Noodle off in the distance, 2D couldn't help but feel hopeful all over again.

Murdoc nudged him hard in the ribs and, stumbling bluntly forward, 2D's arm reached up to rub the newly sore spot. "Right," he said with a deranged expression, "what happened to this place?"

The green man shrugged and, from out of nowhere, pulled out an old ragged wash cloth and shoved it into 2D's chest. "I dunno, mate," he said seriously, "but you're on it." Winking for the second time, he shoved his singer forward and watched him regain himself after a clumsy stumble. He scrutinized the glum expression on 2D's white face, took in the dark bags underneath his black eyes, and downed the rest of his warm beer with a toss of his own eyes. He scooted towards the love seat, reassumed his position on the top of it, and flicked back a new cigarette between his lips. "Wipe that miserable look off your face, Denthead, I'm doing you a favor."

He watched 2D slink off towards the pink wall, making sure to stay clear of Murdoc's robot as he did so. Once he garnered enough courage to even walk around the thing, he lifted the wet wash cloth with a sigh and scrubbed down on the wall with a miserable sigh. His attention, however, remained on the open window, which he looked out through the scraps of shattered curtain cloth. He hesitated for a moment before saying in a timid little whisper, "Er... Muds?"

"Yeah," Murdoc responded, watching Cyborg Noodle as she swept up the television mess from a small broom that conveniently folded out of her mouth. She had collected an ample amount of the broken glass before reaching up to the television box and propping it back on the table again. 2D, on the other hand, had hardly managed to scrub away any of the letters still painted on Murdoc's wall. He scoffed, made a face, and then flicked the bottle top of his beer in the direction of 2D's blue head.

The cap bounded off of the back of the singer and he turned around, having been broken from whatever intense gaze he'd been having with the window. He lifted his hand to rub at the sore spot. "Er... been seeing any of Noods around?" he asked, despite himself.

Murdoc winced. He had told 2D about spotting Noodle just once, though now he found himself wishing he had never brought her up at all to him. The singer hadn't let his sighting go for months. Though, now that Murdoc's 'Noodle Searches' had become a fairly regular schedule, he couldn't help but to fill 2D in on some of the sightings. But it was not as if he knew anything, either. He'd seen her face, seen her behind the pretty cat mask she'd wore, and that was it. That, and the large brown dome were the only clues he'd had in the first place. Of course, the singer's overwhelming focus on Noodle had kept Murdoc wishing that he'd left 2D in the dark.

He sighed, leaning back and pointing the Cyborg towards the coffee table. She flipped it back upright just as Murdoc set his dirty feet back upon it. "Same ol', same ol', mate," he breathed. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit bad for 2D. He hadn't had much company for a while- despite Murdoc's belief that he had been all the company the moron of a singer needed. From what he'd understood, 2D and Noodle had quite a special bond, or something. But Murdoc didn't dwell too much on the specifics.

"But... uhhm, you think she'll show up 'ere soon, Muds?" 2D persisted, looking much like a lost child in front of the bright window lights. He'd sagged in his posture and appeared to have forgotten all about cleaning the wall.

Murdoc pried his eye open, glaring at 2D without amusement. "Look, Dullard," he said, "do you want to be above water for a couple hours, or do you want me to throw you back down there and remove the curtains while I'm at it?" He watched the anxiety return to 2D's face as he turned around and furiously scrubbed away at the graffiti stain. "Take your pick."

Tired of staring at the miserable singer and his mechanical version of his guitarist, Murdoc conclusively kicked up his feet and, with a groan on his own, headed off towards the kitchen. He slipped his feet into the pair of musky pink slippers he'd found washed up on the shore of Plastic Beach, and scratched his lower back responsively. Behind him, both 2D and the Cyborg had made the living room appear only half decent. Murdoc would miss the television for a while, though he'd make sure that the Android would fix it up as soon as she'd finished cleaning the rest of the space. Still, tiredly, he jerked open the fridge for the second time and poured yet another beer down his open throat. His glassy eyes twinkled. "Best thing for a hangover," he said out loud to 2D from the depths of the kitchen, "is to wash it down with more liquor."

2D grunted and at the sight of the nearing Cyborg, stumbled back into the old couch with a little yelp. "Dammit, 'D," Murdoc sighed, slamming the refrigerator door shut. "Oi, Doodle," he commanded and the robot stood up straight. "Get the paint off the walls would you... NO. Paint. Off. Walls. For fuck's sake." He turned back to 2D, who cowered on the cushions like a child. "Get up," he breathed, snapping his fingers, and the man bolted up upright and bounded away from the robot on fast feet. "I don't know why I even brought you up here," Murdoc added, slipping off away towards the lift. He reached out and grabbed 2D by the thin wrist, pulling him along with him. "Can't even scrub a fucking wall..."

Watching the fading image of the dusting Cyborg, 2D followed Murdoc back into the lift, the wash cloth still in his hand. He pushed his hair out of his black eyes. "Where are we going?" he asked innocently, despite the begrudging look etched on Murdoc's unimpressed face.

"I," he said hissingly, "am going to go get pissed drunk for an hour. You, on the other hand, are going back to your bedroom."

2D grunted as he was shoved violently back into the elevator lift, slamming his head on the wall opposite him. Murdoc, however, slipped into the thing quite steadily and stared forward as the doors brought themselves to a tight close. He sniffed, swallowing down the lingering taste of hard alcohol and shoved his hands in his pockets. He watched the scene of the Cyborg wiping away the pink paint close up before his eyes. He did not glance down the singer, who rubbed his head hastily, though he couldn't help but feel an excessive amount of renewed resentment towards him.

The elevator started downwards and Murdoc said flatly, "you have lost your fresh air privileges."

They traveled down to the lowered floor as the clang of tinkering metal sounded out before them. 2D had managed to regain himself, though he had taken on an entirely new look of nausea to his face. His hand remained in the depths of his scruffy hair, and his other rubbed furiously at his temples. When the doors reopened, Murdoc was a bit disheartened to find that 2D hadn't objected to his new rule. Disappointed, he reached back out to the man's collar and directed him back into the room.

Murdoc scanned the space. The dark bedroom under water was a mess, though he hadn't expected it to look anything otherwise. There were small scraps of paper flung around the room, and pads of Sudoku puzzles scattered around the carpet. Murdoc grumbled; Dave, his useless mechanic who had felt sorry for the idiot, had slid the puzzles under 2D's door every so often. Despite the fact that there were paragraphs of simple directions on the front of the packets, 2D had managed to do all the puzzles incorrectly.

With Murdoc scanning the tattered appearance of his bedroom, 2D remained in the elevator lift, one hand on the doors to keep it from shutting upon him. Something throbbing and unpleasant churned mercilessly in the depths of his head and made him loose his balance. And though 2D had suffered from migraines ever since he could remember, there was something about this new feeling that had taken him by surprise. There, in the core of his chest, something burned wickedly. He could feel what he assumed to be his very heart, rise up against his ribs and pound a bit harder in his sternum.

The room swelled around him and Murdoc only looked like a pale blur in front of his eyes. He could feel the onset of something twisted, though only gritted his teeth together and attempted to stride back towards his bed. "Alright, Two-Dents, what'll it be? Chloroform or-"

"...I don't feel so well, Muds," came a timid little reply, cutting Murdoc off mid-sentence.

"2D," Murdco replied, rolling his eyes. He kicked over the small packet of puzzles with his foot, coating it in what was left of the crimson blood that still dripped from the bottom of it. "You already got out of cleaning duty thanks to that vacant head of yours. Don't think that I'm falling for something as stupid as a false migraine." He examined the window with the curtains drawn over it and sighed. Perhaps he'd have the Cyborg remove those damn things later in the day if 2D didn't play his cards right. "Now get over here," he roared, pointing to the bed, "I don't have all day."

Ignoring the pounding sensation in his head, 2D lifted his weary leg and stumbled back out from the lift, which shut instantly behind him. The walls seemed to crush in around him and the heat tht burned at his heart had become almost inescapable. "No, Muds, really," he insisted, blinking out the blurred up vision that fogged his view. He saw something flash in the corner of his eye, however, and he was certain that it was a reflection of a tattered up man, clad in torn trousers, with a tattoo of a beast in the center of his rising chest. However, the image faded and 2D only fell forward against the dingy wooden desk for support.

There was a harsh little thud and Murdoc whirled around. On the ground, 2D had fallen on his back, his arms covering the top of his head and still working away at his temples. He moaned, biting down on his lower lip, and pressed his eyes shut quickly. "Oh," Murdoc said, faltering slightly in his previously harsh stance. Sure, he'd developed a strong distaste for the singer in many ways, but he couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him every time a migraine did creep up on him.

The blue haired man jerked slightly as Murdoc neared him. Then the bassist leaned down, bending down towards him with an expression that was, by all means, pitiful of the singer. "Okay," he said blankly, uncomfortable with speaking in an understanding tone, "is it another migraine?" 2D's chest was on fire. Despite the blurred vision, he could still see the smiling man, step forward as he squinted through his messy focus. He pressed his eyes shut again, swallowing forcefully, and Murdoc heard what sounded like a mix of a moan and a squeal emit from 2D's shut mouth.

The color had doubly drained from his visage and a waterfall of sweat trickled down his exposed forehead. Ever since he'd had 2D shipped to Plastic Beach, he had been having to deal with 2D's migraines. And though usually it had been Russell or Noodle that had taken care of him during such instances, Murdoc had still not gotten used to the gentleness that he'd been forced to take with the man at times like this. Of course, the first time 2D had a migraine in Murdoc's sole presence, he'd kicked him in the gut and left him with the whale. When he'd returned at the end of the day, he'd begrudgingly found the singer unconscious in a pile of sick with a split forehead. And since Murdoc never again wanted to have to waste time cleaning such a mess, he'd sworn to at least be a tad bit respectful to the kid in that sense.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" He asked, holding up all five. 2D's eyes flew open, though he answered back with a distressed cry before slamming them shut again. At the lack of response, he shot upwards, nodding his head. "Okay, 'D," he said, solemnly, "I'll err... go get the painkillers for ya, alright?"

He stood up, regaining his composure, and walked hurriedly towards the lift. The doors shut and the metal came together respectively. And 2D was left to his pounding head, like thunder it rippled throughout his aching body and lifted his chest like battery acid. He felt a wave of haze wash over him and he pulled himself upwards, coughing heavily. Whatever he was feeling was not a migraine. The burning sensation in his chest had left him feeling more ill than he had ever felt. And despite the nearing man in the corner of his vision, he was certain the migraine hallucinations had never felt so real.

Through the filmy texture of his eyes, he saw the horns at the corner of the man's head and his head fell back, running his clammy palms over his face. He hoped Murdoc would return back soon with his pills, even hoped he could pass out just to get rid of the twisting he could feel within himself. But the horned figure approached him nonchalantly, a twisted smile drawn upon his otherwise glum face. He reached 2D slowly and bent down in a crouched position, letting his sharp fingernails dangle before the carpet at his bare feet.

He shook his head and tutted with his extensive tongue. Then he lifted up his dry palm and curled his fingernails under 2D's chin. _"Oh, come on,"_ he whispered, "_this isn't so bad, is it? You and I, we're going to have some fun."_


	3. Something about the Night

**Psychic City:** Thank you for all the reviews! I am so happy that there is so much positive feedback with this! I am happy to continue to update this with all the support! Once again, I have to give a special thanks to **LivelyMcBrighten, Leroy Up, SiberianMau, -bammie-, Sno-oki, HideSeekKeep, Le Candeh, MCLanna, Va Vonne, MunkyWhatMunky, **and **Wordwrytha.**

And **-bammie-**, I will be waiting for next week, then! :)

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**Chapter Three:**  
**Something About the Night**

One single light sliced through the fogginess of Plastic Beach's neon pink shoreline, opening the curtains of the night to the rest of the sea. Tall and grand, Murdoc Niccals' massive lighthouse stood proud as it scanned the brine. Though the swaying ocean appeared peaceful amongst the dark black sky despite the wind and the waves, which mirrored the calm serenity of the plastic landmass and seemed mistakenly delicate at the center of absolutely nowhere. Yet, through the rippling of the vast deep, something pale and ghost-like stood out in the far distance. Though perhaps just a flicker of white, the face of a pale white cat struck out through the mist. For a moment it seemed to be floating, though as the clouds before it softened, the view of a bright yellow lifeboat proved to be its obvious support. And despite the consistency of the extensive blue ocean, the traveling lifeboat stood out like a rather sore thumb. Although slow, the pace of the vivid plastic boat carried the feline-faced figure through the water, the foggy curtains, and the night.

The limbs of the body underneath the mask struck out in a flimsy direction, as if corpse-like and uncared for. Yet, despite the body's stillness, the chest beneath the pale pink fabric rose up and down heavily so that over the flow of breaking waves, the sucking sound of faint breaths became only just audible. Then the tiny hand of the figure twitched and lifted itself, shimmering with the faint trace of water before brushing up against the plastic barrier against its visage.

There was something about the night that both petrified and intrigued her. But perhaps it was the secret liveliness about it that had made her ponder the evening so much. As she lie on her back, with her legs spread out in two opposite directions, she considered how most harmful people come out in the night and wondered if her current position was perhaps an alarming one. She squeezed her eyes behind the mask to calm herself and, instead, thought of more pleasant things. In the rare moment that she found her thoughts wandering, she thought of 2D and the sound of his sleep-filled breaths from the living room near her bedroom during late nights. Then, stiffening, she flushed the memory out of her head with a surge of embarrassment. Ah, yes, there was something magical about the night...

"You doin' okay up there, Baby Girl?" said a voice over the wind and the girl in the boat froze. The stillness of the night had made her half-conscious and spacey, yet she positioned her head upwards to gaze down at the island-like brown dome underneath her. Russel Hobbs, Noodle noted to herself as she smiled back down at him, had become quite the swimmer since she'd seem him last. He stuck his gigantic black head out of the water and stood out of the fog mysteriously. His large headlight eyes blinked around the darkness and, with an eyebrow lifted, he stared up at Noodle and waited for her voice to sound out through the breeze.

Noodle's hand slipped away from the edge of her mask, leaving it on her face. Instead, she slumped upwards, back onto her knees and peered child-like over the side of the inflated yellow lifeboat. "I'm doing perfect, Russel, thank you," she said politely and then glanced back out towards the view ahead of her. Behind the haziness, she could just about see the neon pink hunk of landmass that Murdoc Niccals had now called his home. It was odd enough, really, with all its curious little quirks, but something about it made her bitter, and she found herself missing Kong Studios much more than she had previously anticipated.

The wide smile of Russel Hobbs spread giant-like across his half hidden face and then he was gone within the instant, repositioning Noodle and the boat on the surface of the water conclusively. Mechanically, Noodle leaned back, still up against the edge of the lifeboat, with her lean legs crossed at the ankle. She sighed an exhausted breath and then, with a forced hand, pried the cat mask from her face entirely and let the sprinkles of the ocean hit her meekly. Despite the bruises and the scars, Noodle had, by all means, grown into a very pretty woman. At nineteen, she'd filled out respectively and managed to garner some height, as well. Spending time in the depths of Hell, of course, had toughened her up quite a bit and, remembering this, her fists balled up tightly. She hadn't seen any of the band since her escape from the underworld which, thanks to Murdoc, she had to do all by herself. And aside from the hatred she felt for Murdoc at the moment, she couldn't help but miss him. Through a set of furiously clenched teeth, she murmured, "the sodding bastard."

But the thought of her two distant band mates had, admittedly, brought to Noodle many sleepless nights. The thought of Murdoc both made her happy and angry, while the thought of 2D made her heart pound thickly behind her steady chest. But thinking about the singer made her heart sink and she contemplated the possibility that the years apart may have distanced them. And frightened, she chewed her lower lip, now graced with a hint of red tinted lipstick, before running her hands through her head of messy purple hair. She glanced back over the side of the boat to make sure that Russel had certainly gone under and that he hadn't noticed her head wandering off. Then, when she was certain she had been safe, she sighed, running a clammy head gently over the bruised side of her otherwise lovely face.

And there it was, pink and vibrant and nauseating. In the distance it looked enormous and idealistic, an escape away from the world. She could imagine for a moment Murdoc finding it and constructing the large while building on top of it from scratch. Through the dizzy fog she could see the constructed palm trees, plastic and shimmering in their own personal falsified beauty. They swayed in the night, caught up in the breeze that pulled them slightly to the left and then permitted them to flow back again. She could just about see the pier, rocky and rather questionably dangerous, at the edge of the blatant shoreline. It stuck out like a mirage, only pretending to be a plausible escape route.

Sliding down further back into the boat, Noodle's fingers found her cat-faced mask. Both beautiful and horrifying, she gazed at the surface of it in wonder, before pulling it back over herself and gazing back out into the night.

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Murdoc Niccals' clunky black heel lifted up from the white sand of the Plastic Beach, kicked aside the unsightly rummage of beer bottles around the shore, and relaxed back up against the faux trunk of a lingering and pretty palm tree. The trail of a perfect stream of white cigarette smoke flowed out from his nostrils and he breathed the toxic waste back out into the air of his already polluted palace. In the darkness of the night, Murdoc certainly resembled much of a specter in the dim light. His eyes, sunken in and oddly red, scanned the debris and he pressed his aching back up against the plant before plunging both of his hands into the pocket of his wrinkled old trousers.

He'd been sober now for about seventeen minutes and, considering the headaches and withdrawals, he wasn't planning on taking his dedication much further. In fact, he decided as he glanced back over his shoulder towards the flickering light of the kitchen above him, he could use a bit of a pick me up. Instead, however, for the moment, he remained put, leaning back onto the manufactured earth with a little flick of his smoke-stick ash.

Of course, all things considered, he did need the flimsy little cigarette. The day had been rather hectic and, blowing out even more smoke, Murdoc was grateful he'd had the Cyborg Noodle to do most of the exhausting chores. However, he'd truly had his work cut out for him that afternoon with 2D. After Murdoc had spent a good half hour searching all over the ratty place for the bottle of 2D's pills, he stumbled back into the bedroom, popped open the bottle's contents, and realized that the singer wasn't even conscious enough to swallow them. Thus, delivering a hearty kick to the side of the lifeless singer's ribcage, he'd sunk to the ground of the bedroom and took a moment to catch his breath.

What he hadn't really anticipated when plotting to capture 2D was actually having to take care of him. And because usually Noodle or Russel had tended to whatever condition 2D was suffering from on a daily basis, Murdoc was forced to think about them for a split second. It wasn't that he hadn't pondered their whereabouts, however, because that was something that he did quite often. However, doing so was not one of Murdoc's most enjoyable habits. Of course, when he was compelled to think about the two of them, he did feel a bit of pity, though most of it was reserved for himself. Their absence had caused him more trouble than he'd previously anticipated and, noting this, he couldn't help but feel a bit bitter at the thought of it. And after all he'd done for them...

"Ungrateful," he muttered to himself before peering back out in solitude towards the vision of the night.

He watched the view of Plastic Beach from his spot on top of it, unable to help the surge of swelling pride that rose up in his chest. Surely, he'd outdone himself. The phony island really did look wonderful at night and Murdoc even could admit it from a sober perspective. He overlooked the gloomy fog and glanced out into the twinkling midnight out past the towering lighthouse that stood in his view. But in his moment of odd peace, he strode forward, kicking aside more of the scattered trash, and leaned back out towards the oceanic landscape. Light trickled down upon the top of his messy black top like a wonky halo, which was, all things considered, more than ironic. Still, the bassist did not move. Breathing out the smoke away from his greenish face, Murdoc whistled to himself, gazing out into the open, and a sly smile crept up his aged face.

He'd accomplished much more than his arse of a father had ever told him he would, and he'd done it all in the middle of absolutely nowhere. In the midsts of it all, he'd made a damn good record, kidnapped some of the most famous figures on the face of the bloody earth, and walked away from it all with it hands clean. And if that did not qualify him as anything less than a fucking divinity, Murdoc Niccals did not know what to think.

Forget the magazine tabloids that had called him old and wicked, forget Russel who'd insisted he was a washed up bat, and forget 2D in general. The media couldn't have pulled off the same feat that he had, and Russel was, as far as he knew, pretty much missing in action. His newest album had been praised as one of the best of the year, and he hadn't stopped hearing 'Stylo' on the radio since January. So, so what if he was forty-four. So what if his face was a bit wrinkly. He was Murdoc Faust Niccals, king of his band, king of music, king of the whole fucking beach.

He kicked up his scuffed heel and propped it on the edge of the pier, raising it up above the sand as if he were, in fact, conquering it. His eyes scanned the space around him and, for the last time, he took in the twisted scene. "Murdoc Niccals," he said proudly to himself, "may you never cease to amaze me." And, as if it were a promise, he puffed out another round of cigarette smoke and saluted the open shore like the very captain that he was.

So, prideful and vain, he leaned back up against the side of the wooden pier and resumed his admiration. However, whatever serenity the ocean had to it before had completely vanished. Something rippled throughout the water and Murdoc's black heart, it dropped down in his boney old chest. He could see it now past the fog and the lighthouse. The large round dome that struck out from the surface of the ocean looked so close, supporting on top of it a bright banana lifeboat. Then he saw the mask, the porcelain cat mask held up by a tall and slender body, though the sight of the figure was almost eerily familiar.

Then the floor ruptured and Murdoc was forced backwards. He stumbled, frightened, behind the bulk of the glistening white light house, and peered ruthlessly over the side of its massive curve. But the boat hadn't stopped moving and, at last, he could see the face of the brown dome. And though at first he was sure he'd been mistaken, he was now positively certain that the two headlight staring back at him were none other than the eyes of his missing drummer, Russel Hobbs. The limp little cigarette in his mouth fumbled out from his lips and hit the white sand within the instant.

"Ah!" Murdoc cried, emerging out from the back of the lighthouse when he was certain he'd had no other option. He threw out his arms and approached the musician, stumbling over his boots and sniffling anxiously. Then he drew his sweater covered arm across his nose and attempted to straighten himself up. With a flick of his wrist, he readjusted the yacht captain's hat on top of his head and continued his seemingly intoxicated stumble. "Ah," he said again with an overwhelming amount of enthusiasm, "Russ!"

The upper lip of Russel's massive face lifted and he snared with an expression that made Murdoc's stagger seem like a pathetic little crawl.

The satanist smiled desperately, his arms still wide out in front of him. He eyed Russel up and down and took in his enormous size. Thus, for the time being, he decided it may be best not to patronize the drummer about his obvious growth spurt. Instead, he settled upon exclaiming, "you look great!" and motioning graciously to the lifeboat, "like the hat. Nice look."

But the thing on top of the massive giant's head gave a little twitch and Murdoc tripped curiously over his own tongue. There on the top stood the figure of the cat-faced Noodle. Her lovely pale dress flag-like in the wind behind her. He could see that her mouth was twisted into that of a clearly displeased grimace, and that her own delicate hands cradled a rather impressive shooting riffle. "Well, look at you," Murdoc squeaked, eyeing the weapon, "all grown up!" The image of Noodle, however, came back to him as clearly unamused. When the ground gave a whole hearted shake, Murdoc could see that Russel had lifted his hand like a stepping stair. Noodle's body twitched and she neared towards it, the gun still in her hand. From Russel's large fingertips, she leapt to the ground, extended the metal gun, and shifted her weight.

Thus, Murdoc decided that sweet talk was not necessarily going to work on the nineteen year old. He took a moment, considered the fact that she was, by all means, an adult, and squared away his own jaw. "Well," he said, letting the bullshit melt away from his person carefully, "its about time you lot showed up!"

Noodle's hand lowered. She furrowed her hidden brow and adjusted her shoulders. However, once she'd managed to stand in the position for a long enough time, she finally sighed, furious, and wiped off her delicate mask. "Where's 2D?" she hissed, eyeing Murdoc viciously. And even Murdoc had to admit that he'd been impressed. She did look rather menacing, he had to begrudgingly admit.

"One thousand leagues under the sea," Murdoc replied, gesturing back down under the ocean. However, at Noodle's horrified expression, he raised his hands as if in a surrender. Russel lunged forward at him and, once again, Murdoc lost his dizzy balance. He flopped back over on the sand and glanced back up towards the massive man. Then, dusting himself off, he said back bitterly, "in a glass encased cell, for fuck's sake. Calm down, The Incredible Hulk."

For a second Russel looked as if he might murder Murdoc Niccals, but he managed to settled down and prop himself against the lighthouse vaguely. The three band members didn't say a word. Murdoc, still seated against the ground, only just dig into the pocket of his trousers and repositioned another cigarette into his mouth. He lit it up within the instant, flashing the fire from the lighter up to the stick casually. "So what about the pirate jets?" he asked, glancing up to the rotting sky.

Noodle dropped her gun. "I should kill you," she said, however, rolling her emerald green eyes. However, Murdoc's broadening smile only further annoyed her. "I lost them some while ago," she spat,"if you must know."

"Well, magnificent!" exclaimed Murdoc, who'd pried himself up from the sand for the last time, once again dusting himself off. "Now, come here, you know you've missed me."


	4. Through the Looking Glass

**Psychic City: **Thank you so much for all of you that reviewed! I'm sorry that it took me a long time to update this, but I've been having trouble with writer's block so, bare with me... haha.

Anyway, thank you to: **coco, WordWrytha, ElectrycMunky, Lively McBrighten, MCLanna, LECandeh, **and** Leroy UP. **I appreciate all of your feedback immensely. Thank you so much!

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**Chapter Four:  
Through the Looking Glass**

There was something wrong with 2D, though it had happened far before he had even begun to noice it himself. However, the agonizing headaches and nauseating pressure had not been, admittedly, something too far out of the ordinary. He'd taken to numbing the throbbing sensations out with excessive smoke and liquor before he'd decided that whatever was wrong was him was something he had just never noticed before. So, he ignored the feeling of ignition in his churning chest, and over looked the swooning sensation in the back of his heavy skull. At the bottom of his underwater bedroom at Murdoc's wonky little beach, 2D kept his curtains closed and his painkillers near.

But something was going on outside and 2D hadn't even bothered to lift himself up from underneath the dark plum bed sheets. He could hear the thick commotion from even the depths of the water and felt the sway of the ocean as it thrashed up against the glass. He didn't move from the mattress. Only, his knuckles whitened as he gripped the edges of the blankets and yanked them snug over his ears. Though hiding beneath the covers had become quite regular for him with that massive whale outside, the reason was all the more unfamiliar.

He had never felt the immense pain inside his body that beat his thudding heart. He could feel the bulk of it pound up againt his sternum and make him grind his teeth. He had woken up in the bed in what he'd assumed was hours after his mingraine attack, surprisingly beneath the sheets. His orange can of opened painkillers at his side, 2D had downed a majority of its contents and flopped back down on the bed with a miserable groan.

In his dream he'd been walking across a wheat field in a place he was certain he had never been. The sight of Noodle and Russel had made him anxious, yet the persisting feeling of a pounding drumset in his chest kept him fearful and uneasy. He'd dreamt that lightening struck the air and lightened up the sky, flashing against Noodle's cat mask and making Russel's white eyes a ghastly shade of white. And then something unsightly and shaded shot through the wheat, though even as a specter 2D did not yell out to warn them. However, the advancing black figure rose up from the grass, extended his gangly thin limbs, and devoured the two within the instant.

And then something whispered, "in the world, we see through the eyes of the blind and the lame. For you I offer perspective."

In the dimness of the diminished night, his eyes had snapped open. He'd run his quivering hand through his mess of blue hair. But he had made the mistake of glancing towards the dingy reflection mirror in the corner and almost doubled over at the sight of himself. The usual shade of transparancy had added intensity to his newly strange visage. A group of dark bags had formed underneath his eyes, deepened with the curse of depth. He could feel the gritty taste of bile in his mouth, could feel the gust of anxiety as it reached his guts.

Though the vision of his own outline seemed a bit unusual, even through the blurry vision he could see himself through. Though he couldn't put his finger on it. Instead, he'd leaned forward towards the glass, analyzed his hair that stood out in all different directions, and breathed out steadily through a fragment of breaths. Something flashed behind his pair of black eyes and he felt a harsh flame flicker inside of his chest. Then, gasping, he'd ducked beneath the covers and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

A deep and intoxicating rush of fire washed over him abruptly. His fingers buzzed with the onset of numbness and his legs stung with the feeling of pins and needles. A bonfire took on his condensed torso and, panicked, he threw off the burning covers that made him hot and stumbled from the mattress dizzily. He continued, despite tripping over his discarded multiplug, and fumbled wildly for his pack of smokes.

Then he pulled out a single fag and dove into the pocket of his trousers and retreived his lighter. The end of the half-yellow smoke-stick lit up and he sucked away at it desperately. he staggered back, pressed his back up against the edge of the desk, and slumped to the floor in a stress filled heap. He coughed up what he could only assume to be a lung, lolled his head back, and turned away from the remainder of the room.

He missed Noodle and the way she could sense whenever something was wrong with him. Without her here, he had almost trippled his cigarette intake, the migraine headaches had become a regular event, and his anxiety level was through the roof. In the hours that Murdoc had kept him awake, 2D's newfound existence had consisted of only worry, fear, and Soduku Puzzles.

The absense of Russel and Noodle had taken its toll on 2D. Russel couldn't protect him from Murdoc, and the Cyborg was no use. He missed hearing hip hop music sound out through his walls at late nights, even missed seeing the taxadermy projects that the drummer left laying around the house. He didn't even cringe at the memory of the dead animal carcasses laying lopsided in the carpark. Instead, he felt his expression drop. Despite the continuous bonfire that burned his upper half, he took a second drag and shakily pulled himself to his feet.

The sloppiness of his bedroom was admittedly expected, and he glanced down at the Japanese Puzzle games with tearful scrutiny. It had taken him ages to figure out how to even begin one of the daunting looking things, but Noodle would have helped him finish it without any issue at all. He missed her more than he could have imagined, and even considering her absense made him ache. At Plastic Beach, no one crept into his room in the middle of the night to ask him sweetly to sing them a song for the afternoon. At Plastic Beach, the closest thing to the memory of Noodle was nothing more than a mindless, metal robot.

2D's heart burn was dibilitating, and he fumbled with the collar of his shirt to bring it over his face. A pool of sweat covered the entire front of it and 2D hadn't even realized how much he even had been perspiring. Yet he pulled the red fabric away from his neck and dragged himself back towards the edge of his bed. With a shaky hand, he pulled the blue hair from his eyes for the last time, swallowing the heartburn that remained consistent. Despite his previous uncertainty towards it, he then inched his way back towards the mirror, approaching it whilst gnawing anxiously on his bottom lip. Something, however, was not right with the mirror image of himself that stood in front of him. The way in which his body was crocked, bent forward, made him uneasy. Something about the continuous chew of his dry lip made his blood run a bit cold. Thus around him the room seemed to crumble and lean in on him, ready to either consume him or tell him a secret.

He lifted his fingernails, grimy from dirt, and fiddled with them near the center of his burning chest. With wide eyes, he watched himself in the looking glass, trying desperately to analyze the image that seemed so perfectly... off.

Something pestered him at the side of his heavy head. He felt both weak and nauseated, though remained steady with the mental sway of the entire underwater bedroom. To calm himself, he arched forwards, placing a hand back against the glass and watching his reflection through the whites of his eyes. His breathing doubled and his heart pounded restlessly. Through the angry chew he'd taking to at the bottom of his lower lip, 2D was quite certain he'd unconsciously drawn blood. However, he did not lift his arm to swipe it away. Instead, his sunken eyes watched the dribble of crimson and he felt massive bags form underneath his half-lidded eyelids.

A distinct pound twisted at the center of his heavy heart and the swell of unconsciousness came to him like a baseball bat. As if he'd been whacked over the head by something heavy, he gritted his teeth and reached up to apply pressure to his throbbing temples. His migraines had never lasted much longer after a nap, after his pain medications. Yet the illness of his head still persisted and the room continued to slant through the haze of his incomprehensible pain.

"Oi! Faceache!" The thundering voice of Murdoc Niccals filled 2D's head and, mixed up with his image of himself, he spun away from the glass with a gasp. He stumbled back over his large feet and made an anxious leap for the thin blanket resting on his bed. He glanced down at the bed sheets, wondering why he had bothered to cover up his scarred torso in the first place. And though he couldn't explain it, he felt a stabbing sensation of bitterness towards the man who had given him the majority of them. "Yoo-hoo..."

The pounding urge of anxiety caused his knees to buckle and, twisted, he knocked his leg against the edge of the small desk at the side of his room. His previously pale face reddened and, strangely bitter, he reeled forwards towards the lift shouting uncharacteristically, "WHAT?"

But the metal doors of the rusty lift flung themselves open and the dark image of Murdoc Niccals stood before him proudly. He seemed to have not noticed the rude tone that 2D had previously taken with him, though 2D had considered the possibility that his outburst hadn't even been heard. Nonetheless, Murdoc stepped forth from the lift with his hands on his hips and his chest forced outward. He looked both prideful and sick at the same time and, hesitatingly, he glanced back towards 2D, who still remained covered by the thin layer of bed sheets around his middle torso. "I see you've made it through the night, then, ey?" he asked bluntly, gesturing with his chin towards the unmade bed.

2D gulped desperately, glancing back at Murdoc with a narrowed sense of blurred vision. Had he made it through the night? At this point, he wasn't even sure. Though he did not answer Murdoc, the flop of his chest was all the answer that the bassist really needed. "Well, get up, 2D, come on." There was something in his voice that reeked of sudden urgency and anxiety. His beady eyes glanced suspiciously back up towards the elevator. And though 2D had to squint to really see it, he was certain that the redness on Murdoc's outstretched check resembled skin that had been recently slapped. Nonetheless, he extended his hands and said as if he were the greatest man in the world, "I've got something for you."

The singer winced. The last time that his band mate had announced that he'd had a gift for him, the result had usually come in a harsh punch to the face. 2D's throbbing headache did not subside, but he couldn't help but be more annoyed with the man in front of him. Yet, as usual, he gripped the end of the blanket and decided against saying a word. Still, he couldn't deny the unyielding urge that told him to advance upon the Satanist once and for all.

Murdoc's face flinched. "What're you waiting for, Rain Man?" he asked angrily, making 2D jump and rush back towards his shirt at the mattress of his bed. He waited until the blue-haired man had pulled the red shirt back over his sweaty figure and smooth it out nervously with the front of his clammy palms. Although, once he'd pulled the shirt over himself for the second time, his burst of heat seemed to subside. Desperately, he leaned back towards the discarded bed sheet and wrapped it back around himself as if he were suffering from an awful cold.

Thus, ready to scramble back into the lift, Murdoc outstretched his hand and grabbed 2D around his wrist. "Look," he said with an undeniable amount of hurry, "I don't have all day." Then he glanced back over his shoulder, gracing 2D with a wonky and snaggle-toothed smile. "How do you feel about a little reunion?"

* * *

The intensity of the morning light stung brightly at 2D's blackened eyes. Yet, in the distance he saw the figures of the two people he could only imagine were ghosts. In the whiteness, the massive figure of Russel towered over the water and watched the singer emerge cautiously. But with Murdoc's hand still tight around his wrist, he only stumbled dopily behind, gazing up at the large figure of Russel as if he had never seen something so unbelievable in his entire life. However, the stumble in 2D's confused step doubled when he saw the much smaller figure of a cat-faced woman at the corner of the beach. Her image squiggled before him like a mirage, but blinking, 2D's conscious mind told him that she was absolutely real.

He could see Noodle in the distance and his heart dropped. The pain inside his chest seemed to slightly subside as he drew closer to her. Though he staggered forward with a loss of words, feeling himself loose his grip on the sheet around his slumped shoulders. Instead, he glanced back up at Russel, whose eyes swam with sympathy, and saw that his enormous face was etched with sympathy. Then, for the second time, he found Noodle, feeling both a sinking and rising in his heart, and felt a prickle of dryness at the back of his own swollen throat.

He turned to Murdoc, wincing at the stab of hoarseness that tainted his voice. "W-What's g-going on?" he asked cautiously, half tripping over a rock and just missing the surface of the beach sand by inches. Murdoc's tight grip at the base of his arm, however, stopped him from falling and only further dragged him along the white and trash-infested sand.

"What do you mean 'what's going on'?" Murdoc asked, lifting a hand to wave enthusiastically. Despite the smile on his face, 2D could tell that from up close, Murdoc was only acting kindly for the sake of his future life. "Just smile and act like you're happy here, would you?" he advised, growling through the gnarl of his clenched teeth. He glanced back over his shoulder to get a glimpse of the Cyborg Noodle that had robotically followed the pair back out from the white and wonky house building. It caught sight of the real Noodle in the distance and cocked its head curiously.

But all 2D could murmur was, "... is that really her?" and he managed to squint back out towards Noodle in the nonexistent fog.

Murdoc's face twisted. "Of course it's really her. And Russel, too," he added with a laugh. The seriousness subsided for a split second and his eyes twinkled with familiar hilarity as he said sadistically, "look at him! Look 'ow big he is!" Though despite Murdoc's current fascination with the drummer's currently massive size, 2D's attention only found Russel and Noodle, watching them as if he had thought they were dead. Still, he was pulled along the white sand even closer towards the two and 2D felt the pump of his heart grow ten times faster as the swell of his chest made him almost sick with anxiety.

He could see her face, her porcelain white face, coated with the intense purple blemish of a harsh and horrible black bruise. In the distance he lost his footing, but they arrived in front of the two lost band members much faster than 2D had even anticipated. "Don't ever tell me I don't do anything for you," Murdoc grumbled, but instantly flashed the drummer and guitarist a toothy smile before shoving 2D forward on the hot sand. "Well, what do ya know?" he exclaimed cheerily, "the gang's all here, then!"

2D glanced at Murdoc, and then at Russel. His wide black eyes scanned Russel's infinitely black ones and his heart dropped heavily in his chest. He wasn't sure he could bare to look at Noodle, wasn't even certain he could stand much more of the pressuring pain that tormented his head. But the thought of the girl's pain and the look of her large black eye made him want to punch a wall out. Still, he swallowed his unease, glancing up at the large black man without a smile; he wasn't even certain he could manage one. Instead, his mouth flopped open and parted itself ever so slightly.

"Hey, 'D!" Russel said, and his voice was thundering and powerful over the rush of the coastal wind.

2D's gaze fogged over and he was almost certain that he was going to embarrass himself by crying. But Russel did not seem to mind that 2D was in probably the worst physical shape he'd been in over the course of his entire life. Still skinny and boney, 2D's face had been punched in and bruised. The dried blood at his lower lip only remained present and his blue hair looked as if it hadn't been washed in weeks. Despite the heat of the beach, 2D both sweat and shivered underneath the blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders.

The singer's heavy breath was evident and, nervous, Murdoc strode forward again, chuckling up at a clearly worried Russel and extending his hands. "Look at 'im," he stammered, nudging 2D forward with the crook of his green elbow, "he's speechless. Hey, 'D, don't be rude. Say 'ello."

"I... I..."

However, Murdoc's chilly fingers grabbed the blue haired man and directed him in front of Noodle before he could manage to even spit anything comprehensible out from his lips. Thus, on impact, 2D stumbled forward and was forced to look back at her. She looked obviously older and even more breath taking that he could have remembered. He didn't seem to notice her teary eyes fill up wildly as she watched him speechlessly analyze her. Instead, she remained stone still, her hands at her curvy waist, and her emerald eyes watching him.

But Stuart Pot was only just trying not to rush forward and embrace her. He longed to wrap his arms around her, but somehow couldn't even find the strength to move. Anger rose in 2D's chest. He wanted to find whomever had given Noodle her black eye, and he wanted to make sure that the man would never live another day in his life...

The overwhelming flame of his pounding heart came as even slight a surprise to him. Delicate and vulnerable, he could almost even sense himself falling back. But all the while, in the midst of his prolonged welcoming, he could feel himself fading at the sight of her damaged face. And yet, overlooking the cuts and bruises, she was still so pretty.

"2D-san?" Noodle finally called out to him and the singer wasn't even sure he could take it anymore. She reached out her beautifully scrawny hand and grazed the cheek of 2D's freezing cold face. And while she did wince at the horrifying chill of it, she did not remove her palm. For a moment she looked as if she'd expected him to say something back to her, however, her expectations faded when she saw the front of his sickly looking visage. "Murdoc?" she stammered with her eyes still locked into 2D's, "what's going on?"

Though before either Russel or Murdoc had time to approach the distraught singer, his knees gave in and his black eyes rolled back into his heavy head. He buckled to the ground in tiny fractions, first having been shot out by his knees, and then finally crashing into Noodle's petrified chest.


End file.
